Triplets For The Bear

by Amy Star

  She grit her teeth and tried to focus on moving again. While it would be easier and quieter to approach the den of the Bloodweres in human form, there were also marked disadvantages, including the fact that they now had to rely on their ears and eyes alone – the acute ability to smell out their enemy was gone. But they had weapons.

  She wondered how the Bloodweres lived. Since most of them lived entirely as Bears, she suspected that they probably lived much like their ancestors had all those millennia ago. Bears during the night; humans during the day. Or when on the hunt. From her incursions into the Estate back in Washington, she could understand the freedom and the appeal of that, but it was another thing to never revert back to human.

  After awhile, being in one form or the other became a habit, it became more and more difficult to change the longer you stayed in one shape or the other. Some of the Bloodweres, she realized, might very well be more Bear than human. In which case we’ll have a helluva time trying to reason with them when the time comes, she realized, they’ll listen to only one thing. She touched the gun at her belt and thought about the old ways, the strongest were always the ones to lead.

  It was another hour before they reached the tree line that hedged the Devil’s Couch. So far, they’d seen nothing, only small evidences of Bears that were several days old – tracks and scat that had hardened in the sun. Don’t shit where you sleep, she thought to herself. They really had reverted almost entirely into animals. She saw now the impossibility of trying to reason with such creatures. Patrick had only the best hopes for bringing these lost souls back to civilization, what he hadn’t anticipated was the fact that they didn’t want to return.

  Even if they did, she wondered if it would really be possible.

  “Over here,” Connor hissed at her, crouching low behind a tree trunk.

  Sarah slid down beside him just as a shadow loomed above them from the direction of the scree slopes. Carefully, she looked over the edge and quickly pulled herself back against the log when she saw a piece of black fur hovering. It was a large bear, several feet taller than Connor when he was in full form, and there was a grizzled and ancient quality to him.

  Probably a sentry, she thought, and Connor gave a nod of assent as if reading her mind. The Bear hadn’t seen them, but rested itself against the tree stump and began to move its hindquarters against it. Scratching an itch, probably. Even in human form, they could smell the immense monster – it was a kind of fetid odor, like the inside of a cave or a den. Sarah covered her mouth and tried not to choke on the stench of it, and Connor did the same.

  Finally, the bear let out a lazy mumbling sound and began to lope off down the tree line again, looking bored and clearly not particularly happy in his task of having to guard the perimeter.

  “That was too close,” Connor said. He had his pistol out, and slowly released the tension on the trigger. “Looks like you were right, they were expecting us. But I don’t think they counted on us trying to come in from this side of the mountain.”

  “The question is, where’s the den?”

  He handed her the telescope again and pointed toward a fissure in the rocks where a rockslide had come down centuries earlier. There were several gigantic rocks and boulders positioned there – a playground of stone pillars. Against one of the boulders was a red mark, and she adjusted the power on the scope. It was an ochre dark color, some sort of primitive dye. The mark was impossible to mistake. It was a giant Bear paw.

  “Probably a cave entrance, I don’t see anyone guarding it.”

  They both stood up and approached slowly. Suddenly there was a snap from behind them and they both turned, knowing full well what it was. The Bear had returned, and Sarah swore. Even though he stunk to high heaven, it was ridiculous to assume that he hadn’t smelled them. The Bear growled and she could see that it was standing up on two legs again. It had several scars against its chest and arms which had healed over, but where no fur grew.

  “Run!” Connor said, raising his gun. He managed to fire off one shot and she winced.

  They’d been worried about raising the alarm by climbing the scree. The sound of a gunshot would most certainly get everyone’s attention and call them here. The Bear bucked backward as if he’d been punched in the shoulder and didn’t seem to register any pain.

  “I’m not leaving you!” Sarah said, pulling out her own gun.

  Connor fired another shot at the Bear’s knee and turned on Sarah, his face right next to hers. “They’re coming, Sarah. I’ll be fine… but you need to get into that den and find Cora, whatever it takes. I’ll lead them away. Now go!”

  She knew he was right, but it didn’t make the decision to split up any easier. The Bear in front of Connor let out another growl, and she saw blood staining its fur. He had wounded it, but not in any fatal sort of way. It looked pissed.

  God, please don’t die, Connor, she thought to herself. Her training snapped back in her mind like a rubber elastic and she took off at a sprint. Behind her, she could hear Connor letting out a scream as he transformed into a Bear, ripping apart his clothes and standing between her and the Bear. She felt a weakness in her knees and tried to keep going. Up ahead she could make out the boulder. Sure enough, there was no one there, and she frantically tried to locate some sort of entrance. Down the rocks like two dark objects, she could see Connor fighting the other Bear. His huge paw came down again and again. Connor wasn’t the heaviest or strongest bear, but what he lacked in brute strength he more than made up for in technique, courage, and determination. The other Bear clearly hadn’t been in this kind of all-out struggle before and kept getting knocked down as Connor savagely laid into him with a flurry of blows.

  Then suddenly, more shapes appeared from the tree line. Other Bears. It was only a matter of time, but Connor wasn’t lost in bloodlust, he’d counted on them showing up and took off at a sprint, back into the woods heading toward the plateau. The other Bears took off after him angrily, and she could almost hear their heavy breathing.

  Well done, my love, she thought, now keep running. The rest is up to me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Behind the biggest boulder, there was another red paw mark and she saw that underneath was a bit of a skewed cave entrance. Hesitantly, she ducked down and tried to fit through. It was small, and probably so for most of the Bears, which meant they likely had to turn into humans in order to access it. That made her feel a bit more secure, and she tightened her hand on the grip of the pistol.

  It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust to the blackness. It was a cave, and she saw it begin to widen the further she went. The smell was noxious, though. It filled her mouth and nostrils and she could taste it. It had a pungent flavor, like too much urine and feces and skin and hair. A true Bear den, musty with the scent of animal.

  The cave itself looked to be half-natural and half artificial. Her fingers trailed on the wall, and she realized much of it had been carved away by claws. Her fingertips sunk into the grooves and she gulped again. Part of her wanted to turn on the flashlight that was in her backpack but she knew that it was too risky – for now she would have to make do with what light she had.

  The further she went on, the further the cave seemed to deepen. After almost an hour of scrambling through the rocks and different tunnels, she started to grow worried. It felt like she was going in circles, and for all intents and purposes, she knew she was lost. All she could do was keep moving forward and hope that she ended up somewhere with more light. Her stomach felt like a nest of snakes, a warren of movement that kept threatening to make her scream.

  How deep does this mountain go, she wondered.

  Whatever else they were, the Bloodweres had demonstrated a pronounced tenacity for building tunnels. At any moment, she knew that she could stumble across one of them, and it would come down to who was fastest. In order to keep from raising the alarm, she might have to kill, and she tried to steel her resolve in this respect. It did little to soothe her nerves.


  She decided to put the gun away. The sound of a gunshot outside was loud enough. In here, it would echo for miles and miles, and lead them right to her. There was also the possibility of causing a cave-in, and the claustrophobic notion of being trapped under a mountain made her heart flutter and she picked up speed.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the cavern opened up and she saw lights. She crouched low and saw that there was a giant antechamber. Some sort of phosphorescent moss bathed everything in bluish light – the Bloodweres were more ragged and vicious than she imagined. Below they were all gathered in human form, naked and filthy. Some were sleeping on pelts, others gnawing on pieces of meat and bone. For the most part, they looked quite idle.

  All except a few of the men in the back. She saw them struggling over a piece of deer carcass, and one of the men reached out and clubbed his attacker in the side of the head with a piece of stone. The man crumpled and groaned, holding his head, and let out a whimper as the other man laughed and tore into the bloody meat. Sarah winced.

  She took in the room and noticed that huge beams were anchored to the ceiling. Support beams, she thought. Crude, but efficient. A plan crystallized in her head. Knock out just one of those beams and it would probably be enough to take down the whole cavern.

  Staying low, she crawled on her belly along the perimeter on a shelf of rock above them, and found another tunnel leading to other rooms. Suddenly there was a sound of marching feet and she looked tentatively over the edge down into a small room, which was furnished better than the others were. A tall man, hugely muscled and bearded, but with a bald head, was sitting up against the cave wall. Two naked women, with hair in knots and dreadlocks, sleepily dozed on his chest and at his knee.

  Damon, she thought. He looked perfectly fiendish, and her fingers clenched. The marching of feet stopped at the entrance to his cave, and she held her mouth as she saw Connor pushed onto the cave-floor. His arms were bound behind his back, and he was naked and bloodied. Most of it, she realized thankfully, wasn’t his. But his face was cut up badly and one eye was swollen shut.

  “You did come!” a deep booming voice said, and Damon stood up. “I’d hoped you come. My liege of the Clawgroves.” The guards at the door joined in rank laughter.

  “Where is my daughter?” Connor grumbled, and spit blood onto the floor. “Why did you take her?”

  Damon paused and pursed his lips, his beard wriggling. “Centuries ago we were cast out. Made to fend for ourselves because of your cursed family. In spite of that, we grew strong! Still,” he paused, “it hasn’t been easy.”

  He punched Connor in the ribs and Sarah clenched her muscles to keep from springing into action. “Fuck you,” he murmured through a labored gasp.

  “But! There was a legend, that when the two great Tribes came together and bore a child… that child would lead us from our misery.”

  What is he talking about, Sarah stiffened.

  “To be honest, I’ve thought about revenge on your families for a long time. But the goal was always your precious daughter. She will be raised by us, now. She will become a Bloodwere, and lead us into a glorious age!”

  “You’re mad.”

  “I’m in control,” Damon corrected.

  Sarah pulled back and leaned on her back. Things were worse than she imagined: the Bloodweres weren’t just a rogue group of Bears, they were something far worse. In the time they’d spent cloistered here in this mountain, they’d changed – become inbred and violent but also secular. She imagined that for a people so maligned, trapped in their own delusions, and cast out, that they had probably developed their own mythology.

  The Bloodweres had become a cult, and somehow Damon, as their twisted leader, had constructed a prophecy surrounding her daughter. Madness, it is just madness, she realized. There was another wet sound and Damon kicked Connor again, who merely grimaced and grinned.

  “Where is the other one, your wife? Where is the Greyback bitch?” Damon asked gruffly.

  “If I know her,” he said softly, “and I do, she’s half-way back to the Estate and calling for reinforcements. Or maybe I’m lying and she’s right here, right now, thinking of the best way to separate your head from the rest of your body. You decide.”

  Damon seemed to laugh again at his prisoner’s defiance and the other Bears at the entrance laughed as well – they were clearly afraid of Damon. The law in this den was one of the most ancient laws. Damon was the Alpha. To challenge him meant challenging the leadership, but there wasn’t a soul among them brave enough, or strong enough, to succeed.

  *

  Connor groaned. The cage they put him in was more like a prison cell, and he flinched, feeling the iron manacles on his wrists dig in deeper. He tried to recollect the events; he knew that Sarah had made it, in any case. The other Bears had blindly come after him, giving into their animalistic brains rather than their human sentiments. It had boded well. He’d led them almost a kilometer away by time they’d caught up with him.

  He could run, but he had to give the Bloodweres credit where it was due. They were also hunters, and knew how to find and track down prey. They’d cornered him into a small tight area between two hills. He’d seen the trap before it closed, but it did little good. As two of them bore down, he dove sideways, getting a small cut but avoiding a fatal blow. He’d struck out as well, going for the eyes, and ended up sinking his claws into the jugular of the second bear.

  He felt blood, and smelled it. He had never killed either, but there was no time to think about it. The other bears toppled onto him. It was all over in a few seconds, and he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to get any of the others. All he remembered was pain. They pummeled him again and again, almost into unconsciousness.

  When blackness had overwhelmed him, he must’ve resumed to this human form because everything hurt a lot more. That and his hands had been tied, and he was suddenly in front of Damon. Big ugly son of a bitch, he thought to himself. He’d pretended to be more hurt for the brute’s benefit, and used that vantage to try and determine where Cora was. Even in human form, he still retained some of his scent, but he had been forlorn to find nothing smelled like his daughter, only the fetid rankness of other Bloodwere bodies.

  And, miraculously, his wife.

  He grinned in spite of himself. It was possible that they would wait to kill him. Or eat him. While he was pondering the worst possible outcome for himself, he heard a whisper. He thought he was hallucinating when he heard Sarah’s voice, and saw a thin black figure slink out of the shadows.

  “What are you doing,” he said, “get out of here before they come back! Find Cora!”

  She had her hair tied back in a tight ponytail and it swayed like a chime as she crouched down and touched his cheek. “Not without you,” she said, “all of us together. Remember?”

  He groaned as she pried off the manacles. He looked in bad shape, and she could tell he wouldn’t be much help in a fight. A thin smile spread on his lips. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve had worse. I took at least two of them with me. I feel like I deserve a bit of punishment… if it hadn’t been for Damon, I think they probably would have killed me already.”

  “We’ve got to get you out of here,” she said.

  He groaned as she lifted him up and put his arm over her neck. The cavern walls seemed to close in on them menacingly. “Got a plan?”

  She nodded and whispered into his ear as they hobbled down the corridor.

  ***

  In another section of cave, Damon approached a small crib made from bone tied together in sinew and a filthy carrier of pelt that bent like a hammock in the middle. He rubbed his beard, and kneeled down. In the bassinet, a small creature with black hair regarded him curiously, and gripped at the finger he pushed toward her.

  “Yes, I know, little one,” he said, his voice a deep grumbling that could have belonged to the mountain itself, “your parents are quite strong. I admire strength, even in my enemies. You belong to me now. I will take care o
f you… and in the end, you will grow up as a true Bear, among your own kind. I will see to it myself.”

  There was something wizened in his appearance and in his decorum. His whole life, Damon had known only the wilderness. The few times he had ventured, in human form, into the settlements of humans he had been disgusted by what he saw. They were a clumsy and weak race that could hardly be pitied. But he knew, from the stories that had passed down from his forefathers, that there was something worse than even the humans.

  The other Bears. Every one of the Bloodweres knew the stories by heart, and he could hear himself reciting it like a kind of litany. The old tales told of a time when all Bears lived together as if they were brothers and sister. But then war had struck. It was only natural. War was a way of nature balancing itself, and among those fighting, there were a few who were particularly adept at it and they had become the first Bloodweres.

  They were a group of exemplary warriors who understood that the cycle of seasons and the movement of life and death could only be retained through the constant supply of blood being fed into the ground. The other tribes had seen this as a blasphemy, and tried to kill off his kind.

  The Bloodweres were stronger than they had anticipated, and had fought back in full force. But for their breaking with the Tribes, the great houses of the Clawgrove and the Greybacks had cast them out. Still, they had survived… the wilderness was not their enemy, but a companion, like death, who came along with them for the ride.

  In those years of his childhood, he had looked up at the sky, and at the ceiling of the great den, and wondered if there was not a better way, a way to reclaim the birthright of his clan. He’d grown strong, proved himself a worthy hunter, until at last he, like those great leaders before him, had challenged the Alpha for control of the group.

  He had won, and still had the scars to prove it – long vertical streaks down his back. The pain had been good, a reminder that he was alive, and testament to his ability to overcome anything.